


Maybe With Our Heavy Hearts We Could Love Much Better

by Sunquail



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Holistar spoilers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:24:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunquail/pseuds/Sunquail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let’s die together."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe With Our Heavy Hearts We Could Love Much Better

**Author's Note:**

> sighs and holds this to my chest. if only. also I'm sorry, goddamn.

"Let’s die together."

You couldn’t sleep. It was weird, since sleeping was sort of What You Did these days (over and over and over in a ceaseless blur of existance - your sense of time had warped itself shapeless around you) and you stared into the murky darkness of your room and watched the dust motes shimmer in the light between the blinds. Your heart thumped into the futon and you heard the words in your head over and over. You’d read, once, about an old African legend where hyenas would call someone’s name until they went out into the nighttime wilderness to be devoured. You felt like that. Like the words were calling you to come out so they could rip into your mind and spill you all over the grey dorm carpet. Instead you remained frozen and curled up, like your back, your covers would protect you from the imagined threat outside when it was right there, the screams, the howls were coming from inside the house.

He had seemed so calm, so gentle, so ordinary when he’d said it. Like he was suggesting they go for a walk the next time it wasn’t too cold. It scared you. His eyes were so warm, and it made you a little uncomfortable when he looked directly into yours (that kind of scrutinisation…it was terrifying, you felt judged, scorned, but from him, you simply felt unworthy) but you also wanted to follow him anywhere, like you always did, because he knew so much and he taught you so much. He worked so hard. You don’t know how he did it. He made it look so easy and, in turn, that made you feel pathetic. You’d sometimes get a little annoyed with him. It was a vicious cycle of envy and self-torture, and God how you cried when you knew you weren’t trying hard enough. You couldn’t, really, it never occured to you. Not until he inspired you to. And you wanted to follow him. But there was a shadow behind his eyes. A kind of defeat you’d never seen before. Or maybe you had, and you’d ignored it. Or maybe you just got too familiar with it.

His brother had died. He hadn’t given details, and you hadn’t pushed him for them. You didn’t like talking about his brother very much. It was the topic that made his eyes light up the most, after you became friends. You’d grown familiar with the determined enthusiasm he gained when he explained a certain kind of equation, or when he told you about a specific dish as he prepared it. But nothing, nothing would delight him more than the topic of his precious baby brother away for intensive schooling. You hoped maybe he would be proud of you like that, one day. You hoped he would be that animated when he talked about you to other people (he wouldn’t, because he could tell who was worth these things and who wasn’t). And you were so jealous of this brother. You’d never known this bird, you’d seen one pristine photo that he kept in his phone case, and you’d never known him, and you started to hate him. And then he died. He’d been sick, so you assumed it was from that.

You’d not seen him for a couple of weeks or so after that. You’d worried yourself so sick in that time - it wasn’t like he’d said anything, he’d just vanished. You called him too many times, even went to his apartment within one week before you gave in and assumed he hated you. And then he showed up again, harder-faced, darker-eyed, and you could see the weight around his shoulders. It was something you were familiar with. How could you not? And your heart sank because he was so beautiful, he’d never realised it himself but he was so beautiful and powerful and the sadness was choking him. You didn’t know what to do. Nobody had ever taught you to look after others. You didn’t know how to look after yourself, even, the idea of looking after others was completely laughable. Who the hell would ever depend on you?

He carried on. He smiled, he laughed, he taught, he worked, endlessly, religiously, flawlessly, admirably. You didn’t question it at the time. This was normal, and you didn’t question it, because it was safe. One night, he broke down, and sobbed into your shirt, almost horrified at himself for shattering, and you didn’t know which of you was more terrified. Your hero, your idol, this god of a bird had never seemed this fragile and mortal to you before, and if he didn’t stand a chance against the shadows, what chance did you have? What could you do? And you were quiet as you held him, soft-voiced and amazed that he was allowing you to do this, trusting you (resorting to you), and you hoped he didn’t notice the top of his head getting wet.

Then it had been back to normal, for a little while. He pretended like that never happened. You could see his hands shaking sometimes, his throat moving as he swallowed and stiffened his shoulders. You noticed the photo wasn’t in his phone case anymore. And this continued, until he said those words. And here you were. You were horrified. You were so scared, because you wanted to, and you wanted to so badly and maybe it wouldn’t hurt if he was there, too. You’d imagined it for so long. You’d always backed out, with water running red down the plughole and dripping down your face, hating yourself for being weak. But you didn’t think he was weak. You weren’t sure, for once. Maybe, you wondered, things weren’t as black and white as you saw them. You lay still and thought about this, over and over. You weren’t very good at decisive conclusions, and right answers. It was easier for others to do those, in general. But something decisive like this struck an uncomfortable flip-floppy chord in your belly, despite everything else. Now it was real. Now it was real, and here, and staring you in the face like an inescapable void pulling you closer. It would be comfy, and dark, and quiet, and your mind would stop hurting you. Change was scary, but not if he was there.

But.

You sat up, slowly, and gazed into your lap. You realised something, and you could feel your own heart racing. No matter how much you wanted to die…you couldn’t ever see there being an end to that, not really, you were being smothered and scared by your own sense of living…but no matter how kind he was, how much braver he made you feel, there was a problem. You realised you didn’t want him to die at all. You loved the light he gave off, this halo of radiance whenever he smiled, not even AT you, but just in general. You missed it. It calmed you and you missed it because it had died away from his eyes months ago. Maybe you didn’t want him to die for selfish reasons, but all the same, it was a shaky foot in the door towards a conclusion, a choice, wasn’t it? You’d abandoned hope for yourself a while ago. There was no chance at you being brave enough to get any help, if it even worked - you’d tried, and heard stories, and therapists laughed you away and demanded the impossible of you. But he was brave and strong and you knew. He could do it, maybe. The world had turned its back on him too and you felt…less alone, but angry. That it would do that. How could it? How could it see this light and cover it up?

He’d done so much for you, you reminded yourself. He’d done so much for you and maybe there was a slight, slim chance you could do something for him. He’d inspired you, after all. You could try and do something for him because of him. It…no, haha, it was probably useless to get your hopes up about it, but…all the same. All the same, it was a thought. A candlelight in the void you were straddling.

You felt sick and shaky as you stood up. It was cold, and your legs hurt, and your head hurt and your stomach hurt because you couldn’t remember the last time or thing you ate. Everything was grey and quiet, like usual. There was nothing you had in this world worth carrying on for. Everyone hated you and thought you were an annoyance. You weren’t brave, or useful, or skilled, or very good at anything. But you had been given one chance, one small kindness, and in spite of your flaws, and you knew he noticed them, you could read his face when he noticed them…he was patient. He stayed. And you would stay with him, too, as long as he allowed it, but…what if you could do it? What if you could give him back a little of what he gave to you?

The world was scary, but a little less scary with him in it. The world was scary, but you had enough faith in him that you didn’t want him to doom himself like you were. You glanced down at your cellphone, the little charger light flashing steadily in the dimness like a beacon.

Hey, Uzune.

What if we live?


End file.
